


Windless

by theautomaton



Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, Pooka Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), Púca | Pooka, Will add tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theautomaton/pseuds/theautomaton
Summary: "The elders didn’t seem convinced that any amount of warriors or training would really help with the horrors that were making their ways to them, but Aster had hope, and that was all that mattered. As long as there was hope, as long as he felt hope, they had to have a chance. They simply had to."The universe was never particularly kind to the hopeful.





	1. White Pooka

The Spring Pooka were gathered together that day, coaxing flowers to bloom and leaves to perk up as they did every morning. But it was different then, the coaxing was more hastily done, the painting just as detailed and flawless as ever, but rushed and stressful instead of the typically relaxed pace. Kits weren’t chasing each other playfully, but desperately rushing about with scrolls stacked high on baskets strapped to their backs, their parents urging them to go quickly, quickly, so much to be done!

It wasn’t that rare to see Pooka in such a hurry, particularly those of the Spring Clan. Their infamous Spring Cleaning was vigorous once a year, but that wasn’t the case that day. Oh no, they’d been over and done with their yearly cleaning a week before. Yet, there they were, scrambling quickly to ensure everything was done. High hops to attempt to reach high places they previously couldn’t, stringing up colorful chains of flowers all across the trees around the clearing they saw as the center of their clan’s land.

“Alright,” began a warrior Pooka, gauntlets dawned and paws on his hips, “what’s all this?”

A tawny Pooka, with ears tipped in dark brown, paused in their rush with another chain of flowers in their arms to look up at the tall warrior, and motioned with a hind paw at all the preparations, “Bunnymund! Don’t you know? The Winter Clan is crossing the border today! They requested a meeting with your father.”

At this, the warrior Bunnymund paused, glancing down at the other before they zipped off once their name, Daffodil, was called by another to hurry with the chain. Alright, he was excused for not having known. Immediately after Spring Cleaning, Aster Bunnymund had gone off to training once more. The elders had said danger was in the horizon, and warriors of all the clans were training more intensely than they ever had the need to before. The elders didn’t seem convinced that any amount of warriors or training would really help with the horrors that were making their ways to them, but Aster had hope, and that was all that mattered. As long as there was hope, as long as he felt hope, they had to have a chance. They simply had to.

Tapping the floor twice, one of the famed Bunnymund tunnels opened up underfoot, and he was quick to drop down into it and rush through the warping path. The warren beneath the spring lands was vast, with massive tunnels that wound for miles for the entire clan to live in. The lands above were a glorified garden for them all, that had hidden entrances and exists of the warren for the rest of the clan. The Bunnymund family, patriarchs of the Spring Clan, were the only ones with magic strong enough to create temporary space warping tunnels anywhere they went to get into the warren.

When Aster sprang up from his tunnel, that closed behind him in a perfect circle of fresh grass and an aster in the center, he was in the familiar den of the Bunnymund home. His bothers and sisters paused in their own preparations, furs stained with paint and glittering with left over magic they must have been using to enchant the paints further. One of them held a total of five brushes in their teeth as they carefully painted a glossy stone to look like an explosion of color. Which could only mean they had a crush and were intending to confess with the stone. Aster chuckled, and it broke the younger Pookas from their momentary shock and then they were on him, throwing paint stained arms around his neck, waist and even legs as all his little siblings toppled him over onto the ground in greeting.

“Alright, alright! Get off! I have to speak to da!” he cried, laughing as they curled over him one more time before letting up, laughing right back at him for the mess they’d made of his fur.

“How’s training going?” The eldest Bunnymund child, a Pooka named Sweetpea, stepped forward. She had the Bunnymund markings permanently painted into her furs with magic infused paints. She was also the next leader of the Spring Clan, and her own training concentrated more on protecting the Clan than winning wars.

Aster straightened his furs as best he could and gave her a nod of acknowledgement, hopping forward lightly to nuzzle their cheeks together. He had less markings, being the third child of the Bunnymund’s meant less Clan related responsibilities, and all his markings outside pf the familial ones were earned. “Well. Tough as anything, but I can take it, I’m a Bunnymund.” He beat his own chest once, and his sister smiled, moving forward to give him another affectionate nuzzle. “What’s this about the Winters?” he’d meant to ask his father, but his sister was as good as the leader already. If anyone knew outside of his parents, it was her.

“Mentioned strategies for what the elders warned of.” She replied shortly, as stingy as ever even with words. Actions spoke louder, Sweetpea would say, keeping answers short but strides long and fights impressive. Aster loved her, he loved all his siblings.

The bells that signaled the arrival of other clans sounded aboveground and the Bunnymund family, as one, all tapped the ground twice and dropped down through their tunnels to join up at the surface, at the border between the Winter lands and the Spring lands.

Watching the Winter Pooka cross over was always mesmerizing. When they arrived at any other clan’s land, their winter coats would shed into diamond dust, and their true coats would be on full display. It was always a treat, especially when they brought younger Pooka along that had yet to see their colors in another land. The excitement on their faces of learning what their patterns really looked like instead of the usual snow white shade, made to camouflage them in their homes and keep them safe from any predators that may be out for them. A low chance, but a beautiful work of nature and magic all the same.

As Aster popped up before the Winter Clan leading family, he realized he just so happened to land himself directly beside his father, who gave him a kind look before straightening up to greet the neighboring Clan.

“It is with great warmth that we welcome you to Spring.” He said, with an overly flared bow.

The Winter Leader stood, taller than all the Springs and white as the snow of their home, still behind the border. Her markings were an icy blue that Aster knew would change to contrast brightly against her pelt once she crossed over. Her name was Hellebore, and what Aster assumed to be her son stood next to her, a great deal shorter than them all, and he knew the Pooka was around his age, considering the only litter Hellebore had ever bared came to be when Aster was born.

Hellebore walked through first, her pelt quickly turning into her muted gray color. It was still amazing to watch, and it was a solid color save for her painted markings, which were plentiful, with both the ones detailing her work in protecting her clan and fighting in past wars. She was always a sight to see, and Aster remembered all the times he had seen her in Spring. A solid colored pelt was highly sought out in Pookan culture, a perfect canvas for markings, and beautiful to watch be painted on. Hellebore’s markings, adapted to her new coloring and turned a deep navy to stand out against her gray fur. Equally as breathtaking, it was no secret that Hellebore was beautiful, and only seemed to become even more beautiful as time passed, with each visit to another seasonal domain.

Hellebore’s son, who carried the markings of a future leader and soldier despite his size, stepped forward directly behind her, and all held their breath to see his true colors- except nothing happened. The brown eyed Pooka stared down at his paws, obviously confused, and his mother turned to look at him too, confusion evident on her own face.

After a moment, the small Pooka, whose name Aster couldn’t remember for the life of him, shrugged and placed a paw on a shapely hip, chin held high, “What you see is what you get, I guess!” and of course Hellebore’s eldest son and runt of the litter would be a cheeky bastard, of course he would be even more beautiful than his mother. Even as his siblings stepped up behind him and their furs switched to match the season, all worlds taller than him and most Springs, he still held himself a certain way that made him look larger than life. Until his siblings began cooing over him and how they’d need to protect their little older brother and beat away suitors with a stick. He froze one of their paws to their own side in a casual display of winter magic that made Aster’s breath catch.

Sweetpea leant in from his side, a smirk on her muzzle that Aster decidedly did not like as she muttered into his ear, “Careful, you’re almost drooling.” For someone who didn’t like speaking, she sure was loud.

* * *

 

Aster awoke with a jolt, and realized his eyes were watering. That was the first time he’d seen the love of his life, back home, when there were other Pooka. Now, they were all gone, he was the last. All he had were memories, his dreams. That runt white Pooka had been all he thought about back home, all he thought about when they were all good and dead. Someone he wanted to court, and mate, and never had the opportunity to even confess to. Still, Aster supposed, a dream of the first time he saw him was better than all the alternatives. Like dreaming of the last time he saw him.

He had to pull himself together, Easter was right around the corner.


	2. Month

Aster popped up already in the work shop, because Moon help him if he was going to keep freezing his paws off. North gave him special access through the wards, along with the rest of the Guardians, and it was a huge relief all things considered. But help them all if this was another useless party. He couldn’t think what was possibly so important that North called all the Guardians to the Pole. Especially right then, a week before Easter. Last time they’d been called in like this it was for Pitch, but the Boogeyman couldn’t have possibly restored his strength in the last decade since then.

“North!” Aster growled, already turning in the direction of the man’s scent, only to be met beak to muzzle with Baby Tooth, who over the last decade had grown considerably in size, and was now half of Toothiana’s size. Her feathers carried more blues, purples and silvers than her sisters, Aster imagined it had something to do with Jack being the one to have given her a name. “Hey sheila.” He offered in a mutter, sighing affectionately when she shot forward to hug him round the neck with short arms, before darting back to her mother’s side.

“Bunny!” North boomed, arms out and open with a much too large smile on his face for a man out to destroy Aster’s holiday. “I am glad you are here! It seems we all are except for one.”

Aster paused in his grand plans of strangling North with his own Christmas lights, turning round slowly to see Sandy there, Tooth, Baby Tooth and of course, North and himself. No Jack to be seen, which was odd, the frost sprite hadn’t been late since he’d become the Guardian of Joy. Jack was never late for anything Guardian related, ever. It had a lot to do with his fear of them forgetting him, of children suffering because he wasn’t there in time, of them not seeing him because he failed them. Toothiana and Baby Tooth had cried about it, Sanderson signed his regret of never trying to spend more time with the frost child when he could, North would stare at the Naughty list and try to figure out ways to enchant it so good souls like Jack, with mischievous tendencies, were put on the Nice list instead of Naughty for a few pranks and snow days. And Aster well, he’d tried to include the other in Easter preparations, but hadn’t seen him for a month, he thought he was still busy with winter and all, but with being late…

“Jack…” Toothiana breathed, Baby Tooth twittering behind her. North’s answering grim look made Aster’s heart drop to his stomach, feeling a little nauseous. “He hasn’t visited me in a whole month!” Baby Tooth’s rapid fire words confirmed it, saying she herself hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the sprite for about a month as well.

Sanderson chimed in, quick pictures flashing over head that meant he hadn’t realized it, but now that he thought on it, Jack hadn’t played with his sands either. He always played with a strand of his sands, always enjoying the playful gold dolphins when he touched the dreamsand. Aster felt it unnecessary to add with his own experience, it seemed it had been the same for them all. Jack wasn’t exactly known for not visiting them, they could always trust a weekly visit, at least. In Sanderson’s case, the boy’s presence was always felt through his sands when Jack wanted to play with it.

“It is same for me.” North said, still looking uncharacteristically serious as he walked around the yeti at his side, a yeti Aster recognized as the one named Phil that Jack was particularly fond of, and was fond of Jack right back. “Phil nor I think is normal. Jack always comes, to sleep, to help, to play pranks. Not here? Not normal. Not for so long.” They could all agree, he was the glue that kept them together. A decade was a blink in all their eyes, but meaningful when Jack was there. Only a month without Jack and it felt never ending.

“Do you think he’s in trouble, North?” was about the gist of what Baby Tooth was saying, darting around to help her sisters with teeth just as her mother would do during meetings. Oh no, there were two of them now.

North didn’t respond, Phil moved around him to open the skylight, the moonlight shining into the room instantaneously, already forming the silhouette on the ground before them. Aster took a step back from the moonbeam as it formed the shape of Jack, hood up and shepherd’s crook in hand. Then, the same shape curled into the floor, then covered over by snow. Both Baby Tooth and Toothiana gasped, darting closer to the moonbeam, Sanderson not far behind. Aster couldn’t feel his paws, North was white knuckling the hilt of his sword.

Aster looked up at the moon, ears pinned back to his neck, “Who hurt him? Was it Pitch?” then looked down, waiting for an answer, but the light didn’t change. “Where is he?” at that, Manny made a perfect circle on the ground, and a snow flake right under it. The Guardians looked on, confused, until Sanderson drew their attention his way and pointed to a picture of the Earth floating over his head and an arrow directed at Antarctica. Aster cursed under his breath because that meant…

“TO THE SLEIGH!”

* * *

 

“So, you’re Aster aren’t you?” The white Winter Pooka from before sat next to him in a position that would make most cringe at the ache it would no doubt leave behind, but to him it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Aster glanced up from his plate of greens, darting confused eyes to the position of the Winter, before swallowing down the lettuce he’d been chewing and nodding, “That would be me, Aster Bunnymund.”

“Nice name.” The Pooka offered, smile huge on such a small muzzle. Aster couldn’t believe this would be the leader of the Winter Clan, and that he was the same age as him. Or close.

The Spring Pooka's paw stopped short of his mouth, slice of cucumber between his claws and eyes narrowing because that strangely sounded… mocking… “What’s your name then?”

“Oh me?” The Winter turned, giving him a bright smile that may have blinded Aster, or had he closed his eyes against the intensity? “I’m Snowdrop! Nice to meet you!” and he thrust a paw out to him. Aster fell back, and the white Pooka laughed like Aster had given him the world.

He had wanted to.

* * *

 

Aster awoke to Baby Tooth shaking his shoulder gently and explaining that Sanderson had hit him with dream sand to make the ride to Antarctica less stressful for him. He still cast him a dirty look before shaking himself off. It would be cold, but they needed his nose to find Jack, and the few fairies who tagged along to help. They would be fine, Jack would be fine.

He had Hope.


	3. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the world of spirits, of magic and seasons, names held weight.

How little was a box of teeth, when you looked at it as nearly nothing more than a box of all the teeth lost in childhood? It was nothing, insignificant, worthless to the world. Who could possibly care that much over useless teeth? They were simply teeth, and nothing more.

Memories, on the other hand, now those were valuable. Look back on the right memory at the right time, and it could bring the weakest men the will to live. Remember cookies made with love from a mother, or the caring hand of a stranger. Memories could pull people from the brink of self destruction, and awaken things that were better off asleep. But all things that awoke had once been alive and well, surely the world could survive their reanimation if it had once already.

Jack Frost, Jackson Overland, he still wasn’t sure if those two names were the same or so very different. In the world of spirits, of magic and seasons, names held weight. True names, those bestowed upon a person at their birth by those responsible for their creation. In all ways, his name, the name of anyone, held a power over him and what he held power over. That was just it though, he’d spoken the name he’d learned he once had from the time when he’d first looked at this box of teeth ten years ago. They didn’t hold the weight on his tongue that true names held. They had a weight, the weight of someone lovingly giving it to him, but it was not the first name he’d been given.

Over the last decade, Jack had spent it being a Guardian and a damn good one at that. The memories, after the first of his death, would flood back to him mercilessly over the years. Every month, every day, he’d remember something new from his childhood. None of those memories held as much emotion as the day of his death, of course, and though he tried, there weren’t that many. Certainly none of when he was any younger. In every memory he was Jackson, brown hair and brown eyes, freckled face with a shepherd’s crook, watching his parents age and after the birth of his sister, watching her grow up as well. But even before becoming Jack Frost, he seemed to be a teen eternal, and they moved from village to village when the others became suspicious.

The question was, if Jack could never age, or at least did not age as the others did, then what was he? Jackson Overland was not his true name, and his family were not his blood. Now, he was Jack Frost, a powerful Winter Spirit and the Guardian of Joy. But who was he before? Before Jack and before Jackson?

The Moon, at first, would not answer him. In all the ten years that he’d spent asking, wondering, remembering, guarding, Man in the Moon never answered and Jack never truly expected him to. That was, until, he’d fallen asleep in Antarctica, a random patch of snow and ice called out to him for whatever reason, and Jack desperately needed sleep, so he did not question the odd attraction to the spot for too long before he was curling over it, staff clutched close and hood up. He’d meant for a nap, a few hours at best, a few days at the most.

What he did not mean for, was to remember.

 

* * *

 

 

_Snowdrop. Snowdrop. Snowdrop!_

Brown, glazed eyes slid open as a paw shot out, a wave of cold curling from a paw, into the air to the one disturbing his sleep.

“Snowdrop, love, just wake up!” the voice was deep and beautiful, and the white Pooka found himself yawning as he sat up and stared as the greyish, larger Pooka brushed his fur away from the light frost that covered it after being greeted with his love’s magic.

“Sorry, Bunny, you know how I am. What are you doing in my rooms? You know we’re still courting and you can’t take me like this.” Snowdrop waggled his brow markings at the other, and a one Aster Bunnymund groaned with a smile, tossing a bunched up blanket the Winter’s way for all his trouble.

The larger Pooka crawled into the nest regardless and pulled the smaller, white furred body against his own, paws running reverently down wider hips, a softer stomach, a rounder thigh. An utterly perfect blend of strength and sweetness in one, fun loving, White Pooka. “I may not be able to have you, but I can certainly admire what I will have. Your mother told me to talk to you about kits we may have after we’re mated.”

Snowdrop rolled over, legs falling apart naturally as Aster ran a paw up his inner thigh, “Ah, did I forget to tell you? I was born with a womb and a canal, no member like you. Of course, if you prefer I have one I can always shift?” he made a move as if he were about to, but Aster’s paw slid all the way up and cupped his core, making the smaller of the two cry out and quiver with just that. Beautiful.

“Beautiful.” Said Aster, aloud, “You’re beautiful, Snowdrop Jackfruit, and I would not have you any other way.”

 

* * *

 

 

The memories continued that way, cruel in their realness, cruel in how they showed him all that had been lost and would never return. Cruel in the length, the pain it caused him to remember all that he’d forgotten.

When he awoke, he knew who he’d been and who he was. Jack Frost, Jackson Overland, Snowdrop Jackfruit. He remembered.

He stared bleary-eyed as the Guardians came crashing forward through ice and snow, no doubt Bunny had caught his scent when he’d finally broken through the hill of snow that had covered him for his long, long sleep. The sight of the other Pooka, the living confirmation of his reality, had Jack’s body reacting in a way it hadn’t in centuries. It wanted to shift, shift into what was lost, show his love the beauty he would have no other way, but it had been far too long and as bones and flesh attempted to stretch in what would have been a seamless transformation once upon a time, red hot pain raced up his spine, and he screamed as his body fought for its old form, as fur pushed through skin roughly and bones forced themselves into different places they once had no need to occupy.

In that moment, he thought he heard a name.

_“Jack!”_


End file.
